I have been travelling for some time now. I found out that it gives me immense joy when I see poor people. I mellow. Having never felt poverty in monetary terms, I could feel the contour of my lips, trying to assume a pretty smile at such predicaments. I wonder, am I evil or is it just me trying to cope up with my own poverty. For, I am the pauper of happiness. Once I read a story by Chekov, it dealt with this particular subject matter. Unhappy men are selfish. But, on the contrary, I am selfless, most of the times. However, if happiness implies the ability to be mellow at predicaments then I guess I am more of a paradox to the whole spectrum of logic. It has been established that I can gratify with my own melancholic state yet when material diabolism offers such a chance, then, my ripples exceed that of a hysterical little girl or that of an innocent man about to be guillotined. Its refractory as such paroxysm of anxiety lasts for days, sporadically nibbling away my real self into a virtual, ideal self.
Yesterday, I saw a prostitute. I knew she was an angel.
I saw a little boy doing the dishes in a bhatti and his flits were enticing.
I saw a limp, his short gaits seemed wonderful. I felt an unnerving satisfaction when he tread.
I saw myself in the mirror, long, black, macabre strands of absurdism, nothingness, and senselessness. Nietzsche, abomination.
“Thou shall not know”- is the foundation of morality. Everything else follows.
But, god’s fits of panic did not stop him from being shrewd. Expel man from paradise! Happiness and idleness give room for thinking. Man shall not think. And so he invents, misery, death, the threat to life during pregnancy, all kinds of despair, aging, toil and above all sickness……….when a man is in distress, he has no opportunity to think!